


In Which Snow White Schemes

by alchemystique



Series: Discovery [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Duckling, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 21:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2403101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemystique/pseuds/alchemystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day of the ball dawns crisp and clear. Snow can't wait to see Emma and Killian the first time they see each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Snow White Schemes

**In Which Snow White Schemes**

The day of the ball dawns crisp and clear, and Snow smiles at her husband as he mumbles quietly into his pillow. She has had many, many happy moments in her life, but today stands to rival all of them - her daughter is home, her family is safe and whole, and best yet, Emma has turned into the beautiful, strong and fierce woman she has always hoped for - and she has returned happy, healthy, and in love.

In love with a pirate, yes. But Snow has lived a long enough life to know that you can’t judge a book by it’s cover. And this particular cover…

Well. 

(It’s not like it doesn’t run in the family - Emma had fallen for a pirate, but then, Charming had fallen for a bandit who decked him with a jewelry box, so he really doesn’t have much room to complain.)  
  
She hums as she readies herself for a day of chaos - the cooks in the kitchen have taken a surprising turn toward the productive under the tutelage of Mr. Starkey (good god, had she really allowed a crew of pirates to take employment in the castle? She’s going mad in her old age), but they’ve a great number of guests coming tonight and she expects a few of the younger kitchen staff may be in need of a comforting word if Starkey decides to threaten them all with fish-gutting, as he had for the state dinner two weeks ago. Besides that there’s the decorations, and the musicians, and the - 

The hand that curls around her shoulder is soft and sure as it squeezes, and Snow turns her head to smile at Charming as he presses a kiss against her hair.

"Everything is going to be wonderful tonight," he tells her, squeezing once more before he releases her, and Snow nods, takes a deep breath, and remembers exactly how silly it is to be worrying so much about an affair her daughter has scoffed and rolled her eyes at for the last few months as they planned it.

In fact, it is her paramour who seems to find the event to hold some great importance - he’s been terribly helpful, really, with color selections and guest invitations (he has beautiful, curling handwriting, the kind that makes even Snow a bit jealous - the kind she wishes her daughter had learned), and food choices, seems to know all her daughters favorites and preferences. (It stings, a bit, knowing in the two years he’s known her he’s seen all the changes in her that Snow and Charming are trying to catch up on, but he’s a kind man who seems to sense her jealousy, and he’s always very careful to share with Snow tales of their adventures when she gets a bit maudlin.)

Of course, only Snow really seems to notice his worry about the ball - the way he focuses so carefully on the details of it, the guests invited, the relationships of this and that kingdom to their own, the long standing traditions and the things they’ve swept under the rug after much arguing from their daughter. She understands him quite well, if she does say so herself - this is a test, for him, this pirate of Emma’s, a test of character and honor. He must find a way to charm these people, some of whom may, in fact, one day be his subjects.

(He is so, _so_ far out of his depth, and yet, she thinks he might be good at it, one day.)

———

Starkey is terrorizing the kitchens when she passes through to check on the lemon cakes, but no one is in tears and Starkey is not yet wielding the knives as weapons, so she counts that as a win. 

Lancelot seems nervous when she catches him coming in from his night shift, and he merely sighs as he tells her about his night. (She’s well aware of the lack of decorum shown by her daughter and the pirate, but she can’t say she minds, overly much. It’s far too amusing to watch her knights cluck uncomfortably about it.) Other than having to escort a few curious onlookers from underneath Emma’s tower, the night had apparently been quiet, and she is glad for that - most of the men of the guard will be at work tonight, and she’d rather them be well-rested.

The grand ballroom is coming around nicely, and she has to hand it to Killian - red and gold certainly make for a stunning change of pace from the usual royal ball. Just the colors alone will be the talk of the realm for the foreseeable future. 

She pokes her head in to check on an ornery looking Emma some time after noon, and has to fight down a sigh at the sight of her - still curled under her blankets, her hair an absolute mess atop her head (she doesn’t mention to her daughter that she knows _exactly_ how she’d come by such a chaotic tangle), the grimace on her face turning into a whine as she yanks at the curtains Killian had been so kind to close on his way back to the ship this morning

"Mom. Let’s just cancel the ball. Send everyone back home and…" Her words peter out at the look Snow shoots her, and she sighs dramatically, throwing her entire body back against the headboard. 

"You know I can’t do that. Besides, think of all the people you can scandalize with talk of swordfights and leather trousers and pirate paramours."

Her daughter tilts her head as if considering the idea, her eyebrows jumping up and then sliding down as she shrugs. “I wish I didn’t have to do it in a dress.”

"Has Killian ever even seen you in a dress?" 

Emma looks terribly offended. “I wear dresses! Sometimes! When…we’re conning corrupt royals out of half of their fortune…”

(She’s heard the story of their little dealings with the Merry Men, and she can’t say she disapproves. She’ll never tell.)

"I promise after tonight you’ll never have to wear a dress again, unless you’d like to."

Her eyes go distant and thoughtful, and Snow knows that look - that is a look that she doesn’t think any of them, Emma included, are ready for yet, except perhaps, Mr. Jones and the beautiful ring he’d shown her last week, one he’d made her promise not to say a word about. ( _She’s not ready_ , he’d told Snow while she stared at him, wondering how in the world he’d gotten to be so wise.)

"But first, you, young lady, need a bath."

Her daughters hands tug uselessly at the tangle of hair on top of her head before she lets out one last long suffering sigh. “Fine. Doll me up and parade me for the people. I’m ready for it. So ready.”

She is, is the thing. Snow could remember her first ball, and though Emma has had a few already this is the first she’s really been at the center of - Snow remembers the nerves she’d had at her own ball, the sick nausea that rolled over her, the giddy anticipation bordering on insanity. Emma has none of that - she’s going into this as though it’s just another day at the castle, and Snow knows they’ll need her calm later - Charming and Killian and Snow will all need it.

"And lets see if we can’t find something to cover this up, hmm?" Snow pats at the bright red bruise blooming against her daughters pulse point, and Emma, though she turns bright red and ducks her head against her mothers stare, does nothing more than shrug. 

"If you insist."

———

She leaves her daughter to seek out her one final project for the day, and finds him glaring at Ruby in one of the rooms she’s set aside for last-minute tailoring. 

He looks handsome (not that he doesn’t usually - he prefers dashing, himself, humble man as he is), the jet hair atop his head _almost_ arranged into a proper style, the crisp cut of his jacket cutting close to his body, the collar riding high on his neck showing off the long tendons of his muscles. Her eyes zero in on the unbuttoned shirt just as he opens his mouth to argue with her about it.

"Mr. Jones. We’ve talked about this."

"You only call me that when you’re angry, highness."

"My daughter is wearing a dress tonight. The least you can do is wear the cravat."

"I look like a ponce. And they itch."

"And they do a wonderful job at hiding the love bites all over you. Good lord, how much time do the two of you spend on those? Do you have competitions to see who can make more, or-? No. Don’t answer that. Never answer that."

He smirks over his shoulder at her, running a hand along the red vest that cuts about as low as his unbuttoned shirt. “I’ll button the shirt, but I’m not wearing the bloody scarf.”

(She doesn’t let the triumphant smile show - he speaks so often of his own expertise in negotiation that he seems to have forgotten his own techniques - never tell your opponent exactly what you want, they’ll _always_ try to barter you down.)

"I suppose halfway to decent is better than a quarter of the way."

“ _Pirate_ ,” he intones as he grimaces at the mirror before him, attempting to use the one hand to close up the buttons of his shirt. 

Snow sighs. “Here. Let me.”

He seems surprised by the offer, and more than a little embarrassed, but he doesn’t protest when she steps around him, reaching for the buttons he’s been struggling with.

It’s strange, really, the way he sucks in a breath at her touch, and she pauses, shooting him a quick glance. “Apologies. It’s - it’s been a very long time since anyone has done this for me save Emma.”

They don’t often speak of exactly how close Emma and Killian really are, but every once in a while he’ll slip up, reveal just the kind of relationship he has with her. She doesn’t tell him this, but she likes him all the more for every mistaken reveal. He’s adores her daughter, even when he pretends not to, and when he lets the breath loose through his nose Snow smiles.

"I think you should wear the hook, tonight." 

He raises an incredulous brow. “I find myself less and less surprised by your daughter the more I begin to know you,” he tells her, and Snow snorts out a laugh.

"We’re all quite fond of shocking our subjects with a bit of scandal," she tells him on a grin, and his responding chuckle and the way he eases his shoulders back warms her heart. He’s trying so hard to be respectable, and though she appreciates the thought, she really just wants him to be himself, as Emma knows him. 

"I’ve noticed."

He shoots another glare at Ruby as she tugs at the cuff of his jacket, and she glares right back. “Stop _fidgeting_ , you’re worse than the King.”

"I resent the insinuation that I’m anything like the man. No disrespect, your highness." Fighting back a grin, she doesn’t point out the bit of preening he does at the comparison. One day they’ll admit to liking each other, her husband and the pirate, but until that day she’ll enjoy their silly rivalry. It’s endearing, really.

She pats at his shoulder once she’s finished with the buttons, realizing with a start that he’s not wearing the usual chain around his neck - or, for that matter, the rings that adorn his fingers. With his suntanned skin, its easy to notice them missing, bright white rings around his fingers in their place.

"There," she says with a soft smile. "Now you look almost a proper hero of the kingdom."

He squirms uncomfortably against the word, and Ruby smacks at his forearm. “Stop. Moving.”

"Stop sticking me with pins! I’m like to expire from blood loss before the ball even starts."

"Quit being so dramatic. That was _once_.”

"Your friend is a menace, your majesty."

She graces him with her most severe royal stare. “We must all suffer for fashion, captain.”

He rolls his eyes at her, but his lips turn up at her words.

"Now that I’ve made certain you’re respectable enough to be shown off to the masses, I have to go make sure my daughter hasn’t terrorized the maids too horribly." She moves back around him with easy grace, ignoring the subtle pique of the captain’s interest as she cuts toward the door. She smiles to herself as the two begin snarking at each other again. "And Captain?"

His gaze is curious as he glances at her over his shoulder.

"Wear the hook," she reminds him, and his answering grin is every bit the pirate her daughter fell in love with.

———

Her breath catches in her throat as she gets her first look at her daughter, slipping through the door to her rooms. The maids all seem relieved to see Snow, but not yet like they plan to jump off the balcony to get away from Emma, so she must not have been too awful to them.

Emma is a vision, resplendent in her deep red dress, her hair pinned and curled, drifting around her face like a halo, her lips dyed ruby red, her back straight and her eyes wistful as she plays with the necklace she’s wearing. It’s a small thing - Snow doesn’t think she’s ever taken it off, and she wonders at it, but Emma has never given her the story behind it. She assumes it had been a gift during her time with the Jolly Roger, and though she doesn’t know from whom it might have found it’s way to her, Emma seems to treasure it. 

(She’d asked Killian about it, once, but his eyes had gone far off and misty and he’d changed the subject with all the grace of a man used to distractions.)

"Emma, you look lovely."

The twirl of the skirts as she turns is just as dramatic as she’d hoped for when they’d designed the dress, hints of black lace trimmings catching the eye as they spin - if it hadn’t already been quite obvious where Emma’s affections lie, they’ll put any suitors claims to rest when Emma and Killian meet, tonight. They’ll cut a figure together, that’s for sure.

"We can still back out of this whole ‘ball’ thing, you know."

"Oh, your father’s quite excited about it. It wouldn’t be fair to let him down."

Emma rolls her eyes. “Have you seen Killian, yet?”

"I have."

Tipping her head forward, she seems to be waiting for more than that, but Snow is eager to see their faces when they finally see each other, and she doesn’t want to spoil the surprise. 

"I hope he doesn’t look too stuffy."

"Oh, I think he’ll do just fine."

(Emma is aware of the fact that they’ve been trying to offer the man a position in their naval ranks, and she seems convinced it’s all in an effort to get him out of his leathers and into a proper uniform. She’s never liked the naval dress blues.)

Snow feels the pinpricks of tears at her eyes as Emma twirls herself in front of the mirror - she’s seen it a hundred times before, her little girl giggling as she spun in fine dresses, the skirts kicking up around her heels - Emma is so far gone from that child, but she’s still the same, really, happy and adventurous and oh so beautiful. 

"Mom. Don’t do that. No one has time to dry your tears now." She smiles as she says the words, something sweet and gentle in her voice as she opens up her arms, and Snow laughs as they curl into a warm hug. 

"You’re right. They’re likely all too busy wrangling your poor father into his clothes." 

With her chin tucked over Snow’s shoulder, she can’t see her daughters smile, but she can feel it in the way her arms tighten for a moment. “Who’s wrangling _you_?” she finally asks as they pull away, and Snow shoots a serene look down at herself - still in her dressing gown while she’s run most of her errand for the day, she wonders what the kingdom would think of her. 

"Oh, I’ll manage just fine on my own."

She’s been to enough balls by now to dress for one in no time at all, and besides - it’s not like she needs to dress too well. This night is, after all, not even remotely about her.

"Now, about the tiara -."

Her daughter tilts her head toward the heavens, taking in a deep breath, and she finally rolls her neck to stare at Snow. “If it falls off again, it is not my fault.”

(She remembers the first time Emma had worn it - thirteen and full of the sort of exuberant energy no one person should ever contain, she’d forced Lancelot and Grumpy in turn to abandon their posts in order to swing her around the dance floor, and the tiara had gone flying into one of the flower arrangements on the tables along the edge of the ballroom. Emma had been distraught, terrified she’d broken one of Snow’s last possessions of her own mother, but it had weathered plenty before then, and had been just fine.)

"If anyone can still twirl you about like they could when you were a child, I’ll be surprised."

Emma laughs, bright and airy, and Snow sends her a brilliant smile before she takes her leave.

———

Snow has never seen so many people milling about her castle, not in her entire life, and it’s strangely satisfying, to see so many people ready to celebrate the return of her lost princess. 

David is nervous and fidgety at her side, and she can see Killian milling across the staircase from them, his own discomfort apparent. The metal of his hook glints against the light shining around them, and she shoots him a soft, reassuring smile as he pulls to a full stop before leaning carefully against a pillar. 

(There have been a number of whispers about him already, and an even larger number of interested women, all of whom he’s not given the slightest hint of acknowledgement during the course of introductions. David, though he won’t admit it, is pleased by this.)

The room goes silent as the herald makes a final announcement - for all the pageantry she’s let slip for this ball, Emma’s entrance is one thing she wouldn’t let be, and when her daughter comes into view from the top of the staircase she’s quite pleased she was so stubborn about it.

She doesn’t waste time pretending not to be watching Killian’s reaction, and isn’t disappointed - the man goes still and silent as Emma takes her first step down the staircase, his eyes catching and holding as she turns her own to meet him, and she slides down the stairs with the same easy grace Snow has seen her use in sword fights, practically gliding down the steps towards Snow and Charming. 

She grins when she reaches them, bending for the customary curtsey (she does actually curtsey, strangely enough, she’d been _bowing_ to them all week to the masters eternal chagrin), and they share in a moment of blinding joy before she turns away from them, sliding down the last two steps in the opposite direction.

The silence becomes a buzz of activity as Killian Jones bends low in a bow over Emma’s extended hand (she’s happy few people know him well enough to realize how mocking it had been - and also grateful for it; Emma’s nervous grin edges out into a genuine smile as he presses a swift kiss to her fingers before extending his arm to her. 

They look marvelous together, the red of her dress standing out brilliantly against the black of his jacket, the slash of color in his vest and the lace at the bottom of her skirts just subtle enough not to be exactly matching, everything about this moment is exactly why she’d wanted to throw this ball in the first place.

(She’s never told Emma exactly how many letters she’s gotten from dukes and lords and kings afar, bartering for her hand, most of them insulting enough to insinuate they would be doing Snow and Charming a favor to marry off their sons to used goods. Even without knowing how dearly Emma cared for this man she’d been angry and upset and now, well. Now the lot of them can stuff it.)

"You’re crowing," David mutters in her ear as Emma and her pirate make the rounds, and Snow smiles back at him. 

"I’m just pleased that the ball has been so successful."

He hums in disbelief as they both watch Duke Archibald swallow uncomfortably, holding back a grimace as Emma eagerly introduces Archibald and his (quite eligible) son to Captain Killian Jones.

"Everything has come about just as you planned, my dear," he finally acknowledges, and Snow grins at him, taking in the fine lines around his eyes and the flashes of grey clinging to his temples. He’s more handsome than she can ever remember him being in that moment, and his conspiratorial grin is everything she could ever hope for. The way she looks at Charming is the way Killian looks at Emma, and she hopes, for their sakes, they live the sort of life she has lived with Charming.

"Dance with me, husband," she orders, and he happily obliges.

———

David laughs until he’s in stitches when Emma’s tiara flies straight off of her head at the end of her and Killian’s first waltz, landing itself with expert marksmanship right on Duke Archibald’s nose (she can’t help but wonder how much Emma and Killian actually know about her would be suitors) as Killian dips her low over the ballroom floor.

"I’ll say!" says an old woman in a wispy dress cut far too low for her aging figure, her hand over her chest as she gives the pair a wide eyed stare, and when Killian sidles up to Snow a few songs later, while Emma dances with her old and dear friend Elsa, who had travelled all the way from Arendelle for the ball, the woman in question eyes him in a mixture of curious interest and feigned distaste. 

"May I request the honor of a dance, Queen Snow," he asks, and Snow’s grin widens at his extended hand, the gem of one of his rings glinting against the lantern light. 

"I’d be delighted, Captain."

He’s very good, she realizes once they’re on the floor - far better than Charming, he doesn’t step on her toes once, and manages to be an excellent lead without being the least bit forceful. “I see you received my gift,” she tells him with a nod at his hand. His lips tick up in amusement. 

"I’m beginning to think you wanted this crowd as confused and surprised as possible, milady."

"I have no idea what you could possibly mean."

He licks his lip as he ducks his head to hide a grin, before shooting her a look that by anyone’s standard could easily be construed as bashful. “I want to thank you,” he begins, “but I’ve no idea where to even start.”

"Thank you is more than enough for me, Killian," she tells him, and the furrow of his brow turns her own lips up. "You have made my family whole again, and you have made my daughter happy. It is I who should be thanking you. And now that we’ve both said the words, we can move on to more intriguing endeavors."

"What, exactly, did you have in mind?" The way he tucks his tongue against his cheek gives her all she needs to know - they are quite on the same page.

"I was hoping to see Lady Evelyn turn so red in the face from indignation you could see the stain from underneath the pile of powder she wears," she tells the pirate, nodding her head to point out the woman in question. 

"I think, your highness, that that can be arranged."

(Lady Evelyn later excuses herself from the party, fanning at her face and muttering terribly unkind things about the state of royal affairs these days, as Snow and Killian try very hard not to celebrate their victory too visibly.)

———

Snow sighs against Charming’s shoulder as they watch the party begin to disperse - such a raging success of a ball she can see the sun beginning to peak over the horizon from the wide balcony windows. 

Emma and Killian are halfway across the ballroom and moving farther away - hands clasped as Emma practically drags the man toward the open doors and the sunrise just beyond. They make quite the pair - Emma’s hair falling half out of it’s intricate updo, Killian’s jacket missing and at least four of his buttons mysteriously undone, Emma’s heels kicked off somewhere, likely never to be found again. 

They look so terribly happy, content and carefree despite the nerves they’d had before the ball, and Snow bites back a smile as one of her councilmen bids the man a good morning as he passes by.

"A brilliant success, if you don’t mind my saying so," Charming says as he catches the direction of her gaze.

"It does seem so, doesn’t it. There is one thing, though…" she trails off, and Charming tilts his head for her to continue. "Well. After all those dance lessons, you still stepped on my toes all night long."

Her laughter echoes happily across the ballroom as Charming digs his fingers into her side, and Emma and Killian don’t complain when they join the pair along the rail to watch the sun slide up over the hills and into the morning sky.


End file.
